


An Offering of Teeth

by gabrielandworms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Body Horror, Exophilia, F/M, Oral Sex, Self-Harm, Teeth, Teratophilia, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielandworms/pseuds/gabrielandworms
Summary: Jude Leota preferred his uneventful life in the rural countryside, but then the fairy appeared. Ever since that fateful encounter, he's been compelled to complete even the most improbable tasks in her honor. So when she requests a shrine constructed of teeth, he heeds the request.
Relationships: Jude Leota/The Fairy
Kudos: 5





	An Offering of Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you make a joke about tooth fairy smut but then decide to play it seriously. I think it's safe to say that I will never stop with my bullshit.
> 
> Also this story has a painting that accompanies it, but it's only available on my personal site. Sorry.

One should never give their name to the fairies. Names carry power, and fairies know best how to weave that power into a dangerous weapon. In their hands, your name can become the sharpened knife pressed against your throat. And yet, like a damned fool, I gave a fairy my name.

The fairy in question—my inevitable jailer—had appeared during the still of a moonless night. I had been lounging outside, leaned back in a chair and with a clove cigarette in one hand. At first I had seen nothing in the vast field of towering grasses and wildflowers, and then suddenly I had seen her, a barefoot apparition amongst the prairie wilds.

Her flesh was white. Her pupilless eyes were also white, with no distinction between the iris and the sclera. Even her flaxen hair was white, and it flowed down her back like a trickle of spilled milk. She could have been carved from marble, save for when she opened her mouth. When she spoke, her pale lips parted to reveal rows of jagged teeth as translucent and sharp as broken glass. And all the while her sheer gown billowed around her, the fabric so delicate that it could have been woven from the thin strands of spider webs.

I had been told all sorts of tales about fairies when I was a child. They were always delicate, colorful creatures, adorned with flowers and polished stones. The fairies of those stories sang and danced, even as they deceived the mortals they came across. They were energetic creatures. They were the exuberance of life manifested.

She was nothing like those fairies. She was too sharp, too unsettling, too macabre. If the fairies of those old stories came from ancient forests, then she crawled forth from a decaying mausoleum. She was bewitching in the way that I had never known fairies to be. I was in love with her. She was a pallid goddess of death, and I was her devotee.

Then, on a night just as quiet as the one that had heralded her arrival, I had given her my name. I still remember how she had smiled, the light flashing against her crystalline teeth as she murmured, “…Jude.” Her voice had been like the slow roll of fog moving across the fields. I would have regretted my decision then, had she not then bequeathed to me one of her chaste kisses. At that moment, I had truly understood just how much of a lovelorn fool I’d become.

Even the simplest of her touches had a profound effect on me. She could comb her narrow fingers through my hair and soothe away my fears. A caress down my back could make me forget my anxieties. As I pondered this ability of hers, I cannot help but wonder if that is due to her being a supernatural creature. If I am to be honest, she didn’t need my name to exert control over me; I think I had given her that leash to my psyche the very moment I had laid my eyes upon her.

Delivering my name to her was simply a formality. She had brought me a contract, and I had signed it with my own blood.

I suspect that most people would respond with horror to this predicament, to my being subject to the beck and call of a fairy. Even with this justifiable alarm ever lurking at the back of my mind, I find myself more intrigued than terrified.

Do not misunderstand me. As she is a fairy, I do await when her malice is turned towards me. Fairies and humans are at odds by their very natures. I imagine that she will eventually turn that famed fae cruelty upon me, transmogrify me into a delicate cake or bewildered deer.

Those fears were for the future though, when she revealed her capacity for destruction. In the meantime, she never asked for anything distressing of me. She never demanded a sacrifice of life, or the spiriting away of children. In fact, she only asked for an offering of teeth.

The request for teeth, admittedly, does seem no less unsettling. And at first, I had balked at her request, as most anyone would. After all, one does not just typically come across loose teeth, as though they are stones found along a dirt road. She could just as well have requested one of those aforementioned blood sacrifices. How was I expected to acquire these teeth? Was I to pounce upon people when they were at their most vulnerable? Was I to take a set of pliers and forcibly rip the teeth, roots and all, from their pink mouths?

However, I then came to understand that she didn’t mean just human teeth. The teeth from any creature was acceptable. As steep a request as that still was, it was at least attainable. The son of both a hunter and a taxidermist that I was, the teeth of animals were far more accessible.

“You want the teeth?” my father, the hunter, had asked as he’d hauled the carcass of a young stag into his workroom. The animal’s eyes had been fogged over with death. “What on earth for?”

“It’s for an art project,” I had lied.

In hindsight, my explanation hadn’t entirely been a lie. She demanded teeth, but not for the purpose of hoarding them. She wasn’t a dragon in need of an eccentric pile of gold. She wanted a shrine in her honor, enshrouded with teeth.

“A shrine? Is that something fairies usually want?” I had asked in my confusion.

My question had her still in the midst of braiding her long hair. “Is that not a desire for all living things?” she had asked. “To have something built in our honor? A lasting relic to commemorate our existences?”

I hadn’t been sure how to answer her. I certainly never contemplated such a thing. If anything, I cultivated an appreciation of the impermanence of life, particularly my own. While the fairy might be an immortal, as ageless as the stone she appeared to be carved from, I saw myself more as a brief ripple in a pond. My impermanence was my majesty.

I suppose my ideas were irrelevant. She wanted a monument in her honor, not a comment on the beauty of rippling water. And so, I began to build the shrine, tucked away deep in the basement of my home.

My home’s basement was a dark and drab monstrosity, all dust and centipedes and dim lighting. The space was vast though, so I had plenty of room to work.

I put up walls over the cold cinderblocks and a ceiling over the rough rafters. I then painted them both the white color of moon flower blooms. Once that was complete, I covered the stained cement floor with boards of white oak. Only then did I start on the request that was demanded of me.

The walls, the moon flower walls, became a canvas for me to line with teeth. Or rather, they would eventually become that canvas. As it so happened, I quickly became aware that I would need more teeth than those my parents deigned to give to me. I had to broaden my search.

I trawled through the woods for animal remains to harvest. The deeper I descended into the chaos of the trees, the more luck I had in my search. I would find bones—rendered fleshless and bleached by the elements of the wild—amongst the forest floor. If I was fortunate, I discovered skulls with their teeth intact. Sometimes the skull had the long and angular snout of a possum. Other times the skull was the crushed remnants of a doe. In one instance I recovered the teeth of what was once a small fox.

Trekking through the woods was ultimately not enough to sate my demand for teeth. I had to seek other means as well. On one occasion I was able to acquire raccoon teeth from a new age store the next town over. If the woman that owned the shop had concerns as to why I needed every single tooth she had, she didn’t voice them. She rang up my purchase without hesitance, and she then asked if I was interested in their supply of smoky quartz. I declined.

I picked up shark teeth from a store I tracked down online. The box arrived intact, with the teeth lined in layers of plastic wrap and styrofoam. Packing peanuts clung to my arms as I tore through each of the meticulous layers, desperate to unearth my prize. The teeth were small, and sharp, and beautiful. I repeatedly pressed my fingertips against the jagged edges once I had freed them from their prison.

I tracked down a jar of human teeth from a rarely visited antique store. I had found them on the back of a rickety shelf with a thin layer of dust on the lid. I could barely believe my luck as I took the entire jar to the cash register. The cashier seemed equally surprised that someone was interested in such a morbid purchase.

I fine-tuned my incessant quest for teeth into an artform. The result was my being able to obtain teeth at a rapid pace. Such speed was a necessity, considering how many I needed.

When I finally acquired enough teeth I began my work. As I considered her request, I felt it best to use the teeth to form a mural upon the basement walls. I mounted rows upon rows of teeth to the surface. I created meticulous whorls of deer teeth, of horse teeth, of cow teeth. Smaller spirals of raccoon and squirrel teeth extended from these whorls, as delicate as lace. The human teeth, which I had little of—just the jar—I only used once. I created a flower-shaped design with the human teeth against the back wall. Eventually the other patterns of teeth surrounded the design and consumed it. The result was that the blossom of human teeth had become a secret, something that only I knew about.

After months of work, the shrine was nearing completion. The walls and ceiling were lost beneath a sea of teeth. The result was something ethereal, not unlike the ossuaries of Poland and the Czech Republic. I could have imagined myself back in one of those memorials to death, with so many remnants of bone-white life around me.

In fact, being surrounded by the product of my hard work had rendered me complacent. I never considered the possibility that I would come just shy of completing this bizarre, yet beautiful, shrine. And yet, I found myself come just one tooth short of finishing the mural.

My heart grew cold, like the crisp snow during the bleakest part of February, as I gazed upon the one blank spot upon the wall. I knew that I could not leave that detail unfinished. Not only would the fairy take note, but I could not bring myself to allow this grueling endeavor to remain unfinished. I obsessed over that void. I was taunted by it.

I could return to my search for more teeth, but I had already spent so much time assembling the shrine. I did not want to spend more weeks waiting for one last tooth. I trudged up the stairs, the empty spot on the wall akin to a hot iron burning its brand upon the wrinkles of my brain.

I padded across the kitchen floor, the linoleum tiles cool against my bare feet. The heat of a drink might warm away the icy dread that gripped my heart. I rummaged through one of the cabinets, and I produced a bottle of half-drank Canadian whiskey from behind stacks of tuna cans and boxes of stale cereal. I didn’t bother with a glass; I intended to down the rest of the bottle before the night was over. Just like my mother, the taxidermist, before me, I found myself to enjoy the embrace of liquor when confronted with failure.

The whiskey burned pleasantly as I took a hearty swig, and I slammed the bottle back down onto the kitchen counter. The glass chimed against. The sound echoed in the silence of the kitchen. The warmth spread through my chest, but it didn’t quite chase away the chill of my despair. It persisted as a tundra surrounded by desert.

As I looked over at the kitchen window I caught my reflection upon the glass. My hair was an unkempt mass of curls, and my jaw was covered with a dark scruff that couldn’t quite be described as a beard. The circles under my eyes were dark with exhaustion. My mouth was set in a solid, humorless line. I gazed at my mouth with hesitance as a peculiar thought occurred to me. If I was adamant then I could finish my mural, but I dreaded what that would entail.

I thought of the fairy, of her glass-sharp teeth. Was she born with those teeth, or had she once had teeth akin to my own? Her teeth were beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine that agony that had to be those jagged edges cutting through her white gums. How badly she did she bleed for those delicate, terrifying teeth?

My fingers ran over my jaw as I considered my own teeth. Surely I could part with one of them? I didn’t enjoy the prospect of removing one of my front teeth, but I imagined that no one would notice if I was suddenly missing a molar. I looked back over at the whiskey. I could almost hear the amber liquid promise me its assistance. After a long and contemplative moment, I breathed a heavy sigh, grabbed the bottle, and then went in search of a set of pliers.

Once I had unburied them from the bottom of a cupboard, I made my way to the bathroom. The light flickered to life when I hit the switch, and I took another deep drink of the whiskey. I needed the alcohol to flow through my veins, to numb me to what I was about to do. I only abandoned the bottle when it was nearly empty.

I then looked into the mirror, opened my mouth as wide as I could, and brought the pliers to one of my molars.

I had been uncertain as to how difficult extracting one of my teeth would be. They were all firmly embedded in my jaw, so I knew I would be facing a struggle, but I had been unprepared for just how stubbornly the tooth would remain in place. I had also been unprepared for the pain. For all of the whiskey’s help, agonizing jolts of pain still tore through my jaw and screamed within the corridors of my alcohol-dazed mind.

Still, I knew that I couldn’t stop. I used the pliers to move the tooth from side to side in an attempt to loosen it from my mouth’s stranglehold. I heard the crack of bone. Another rush of pain flooded my jaw, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood. I gently twisted the pliers, and the tooth turned with it. Blood dribbled from my mouth and into the sink. I twirled the pliers in the opposite direction and then, almost too easily, the tooth came loose. Whiskey-traced blood, dark and garish, spilled from the now open wound, it and splattered onto the porcelain sink beneath me.

The pliers—and the tooth—spilled from my hand as relief washed over me. The soreness of my jaw, whether from the sheer force I had just applied or the removal of the tooth itself, was a welcome relief from the previous misery. I could have closed my eyes right then, but the blood trickling down my throat reminded me that I needed to tend to my wound first. I rummaged through the bathroom cupboard, and I stuck the wads of gauze I uncovered over the oozing socket.

Then, and only then, I succumbed to relief. The removal of my tooth was over, and I now had the last tooth I needed to complete my shrine. My mind felt hazy. I could have fallen asleep then, but I still forced my gaze to roam over the bathroom floor until I found my tooth. Blood and a shred of fresh tissue clung to its twisted roots as a gruesome reminder of what I had just subjected myself too.

“Christ,” I muttered to myself, but I knew that I wasn’t acting on the behalf of Jesus of Nazareth. My savior wasn’t a force of Christian divinity. I gave my shaky legs respite as I sank to the floor in order to grab the tooth in one of my large hands.

* * *

Of course, I hadn’t been able to finish the mural that night. Between the alcohol and the improvised removal of my tooth, my mind had been too much like a frayed rope in order to bear the added effort of completing the shrine. I returned downstairs to the shrine a few days later, my cheek swollen and the tooth cleaned of its blood and gore.

The tooth fit into the empty slot upon the wall perfectly. The vine of teeth, now completed, wound lazily around the shrine. I contemplated the sight around me with a solemn appreciation. I had never understood the concept of holiness before in my life. While I could appreciate the beauty of a cathedral, could appreciate the hard work that went into its assemblage, I never could feel an otherworldly presence if I stood within its walls. A cathedral was simply another piece of architecture, no matter how vast and complex its beauty.

This shrine, however, awoke something within me. If the divine existed, it lived within these walls, cocooned by the murals that I had wrought with my own hands. It was a primal divinity, fueled by blood and sweat and the cracking of bone. It was the same inhuman force that the fairy carried.

Once I was able to compose myself, I excused myself from the shrine. I then carried in a low table and dark cushions, for what shrine would be complete without an altar and seating for its worshippers? I left candles the color of blood on the table, along with a broad plate for offerings. Fresh flowers, all in white, were placed in vases. And, finally, I took the pliers from that fateful night, and I sat it before the offering plate. It belonged nowhere else.

I knelt down onto one of the cushions, and I carefully lit the candles one by one. “I did what you wanted,” I murmured, my voice low. I hadn’t see the fairy in so long, but I still somehow felt her presence in that room. I could feel the drag of her teeth across the column of my neck. However, if she was in the shrine then she didn’t answer.

I didn’t see her again until that night. I returned to the shrine to check on it before I retired for the night. I found her standing in the middle of the room, her milky white gaze settled upon the altar. Her ghostly hair and gown billowed around her as though she was the shade of a long-lost memory. When she heard my footsteps, she finally turned around.

“I see that you’re the reliable sort of mortal,” she spoke in her low and haunting voice. “I don’t typically see this level of dedication.”

The hum at the back of my throat was lower than her voice. “Even from those whose names you have?” I inquired. After all, the sort of power she received when given someone’s name would certainly also give her control over that person. Even if they truly despised her requests, they wouldn’t be able to defy her.

The fairy shrugged, and she turned back to the altar. One of her hands meandered over the flowers and candles laid out in her honor. “What good are acts of worship when they’re carried out by mortals that can’t act otherwise? That’s not worship at that point. It’s simply carrying out a compulsion. As you may have noticed, not once have I forced you to act against your own desires. Surely you can deduce that I give the other mortals the same freedom.”

Her hand then stilled as she came upon the pliers. She then carefully picked then up in one of her small hands. Her colorless lips turned into a small frown. “If I had been controlling you, I certainly would not have forced you to this.”

I ran my hand through my hair. After it having been dirty and uncombed for so long, I savored the feeling of the curls being clean and groomed. “I needed one more tooth,” I answered her. “I was so close to finishing everything that I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to scrounging for more teeth.”

“I see,” she answered, her voice cool with displeasure. That very voice carried the chill of an autumnal lake. She sat the pliers back down, and she then turned to approach me. Her bare feet made no sound upon the wooden floor. “I don’t care if you harm others in order to meet my requests,” she informed me. “Human or animal, they mean nothing to me. But the minute I take a mortal’s name is the minute they become my responsibility, and I don’t abide by my charges mutilating themselves.”

She stood before me, and the cool pads of her fingertips brushed over my lips. Her presence was overwhelming now that she was standing so close. I wondered if the shrine that I built somehow empowered her, imbued her veins with a magic that she had previously lacked. I closed my hands over her narrow wrists in an attempt to ground myself. I was otherwise nearly suffocated by the presence of this very bizarre force. Her pupilless eyes were impassive as they watched me and my unease.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered. “Let me see what you have done to yourself.”

I found myself unwilling to resist that voice, so I opened my mouth. Where a molar once sat was instead a sore pit filled with clotted blood. Her frown deepened as she took in the sight. “Never again,” she scolded me as she slipped one of her fingers into my mouth.

I found myself stunned at that very moment. The tip of her finger moved over the open wound, stilled, and then abruptly pressed down. Pain surged, and then I felt the wound swell, as though something was growing within it. The sensation felt so bizarre and strange and wrong that I couldn’t resist the impulse to pull away from her.

If she was offended, she didn’t show as much. She instead tilted her head to the side as though she was entertaining a curious thought. “That’s better,” she murmured. “Next time I won’t be so forgiving if you destroy that which is mine.”

I rubbed my jaw as I contemplated her words. I could feel something pushing to the surface from within the open wound. _Another tooth, I guess,_ I thought to myself. As eerie as the sensation was, however, what I found myself more unsettled by her remark.

She was indeed a fairy, so I wasn’t particularly surprised by her words. Not once in my life had I been taught to expect empathy from the fairies—true selfless empathy. For fairies to show compassion towards humans they needed something that would be to their own benefit.

For this fairy, her own benefit seemed to be offerings of teeth as well as the occasional conversation with a human.

“If I destroy that which is yours,” I replied as I took extra care with my choice of words. “You speak as though I’m no different than a plant or a pet dog.”

The faintest hint of a smile graced her sharp-boned face. “A plant or a pet dog? Yes, I believe that is an accurate comparison.” She reached for my hair and let the dark strands flow from between her fingers. “But does that bother you, truly? When you gave your name to me, you knew you would never be anything beyond that. And I do take good care of my plants.”

She wound one wisp of my hair around her finger and then tugged on it. My eyes slipped shut, and a pleased rumble left me before I could halt the sound. That sound gave her all of the information that she needed. I could feel the way she paused, not unlike the still of a predator that just caught a glimpse of particularly rotund prey. And also like a predator, I could tell that she was voracious.

“I do love this shrine that you’ve built for me,” she said, her voice haunting and deliberate. “So much hard work that I can see in every detail, in every tooth on the wall.” She released that lock of hair, but only so she could cup my face with both of her hands. “Should I reward your for your effort?”

And she did reward my effort. The sharp blades of her teeth teased at my lips as I let my hands slip beneath her gown. Unlike her cool and dry hands, every patch of skin I discovered was warm to the touch. I peeled away the gauzy layers of her dress to reveal her tooth-white flesh.

I guided her nude form down onto the cushions and laid her before the altar assembled in her honor. She spread her legs in invitation, and I leaned down to worship her. Her pussy was flushed a purple-red, hot with her blood thrumming just beneath her soft skin. The sight awoke a deep hunger within me, and I lowered my head to feed.

She was delicious. She was the taste of life and desire. My tongue slipped between the folds of her sex in order to tease at the nub and the delicate opening that it discovered. A satisfied sigh escaped the fairy as her chest rose. The sound was the beginning of a symphony performed just for me.

I could have remained between her legs for an eternity as I laved every sensitive spot with my tongue. I pressed one of my fingers into her wetness. A delighted mewl escaped her, so I pushed onward as I found myself eager to elicit another one of those little noises. As such, I added a second digit to that opening.

She was soft and so unbelievably hot to the touch. I could feel a similar heat, a similar wetness, between my own legs as my body answered the call of hers. They had their own secret language, and it filled the air between us.

I took one of her folds between my teeth. I tugged at the soft flesh, and her hips jerked in surprise as her voice rang out. She tangled her fingers into my hair so that she could yank on the curls.

“Perhaps I should bring you with me,” she breathed. I could feel her thighs quiver as I rolled my tongue around the button of her clit. “Snatch you from this world and have you live as my consort. You certainly would make for a far more interesting throne.” She yanked on my hair, and I winced in response.

“Keep enjoying your reward,” she cooed, the backbone of an order behind her words. “I will let you know when you can stop.”

My groan was one of arousal. Each of her remarks were dry leaves being tossed upon the growing inferno of my excitement. I carried out my ministrations with a renewed fervor as I lapped at the blossom of her sex. My fingertips rubbed at the soft walls within her.

Her moans grew louder, and the way she pulled on my hair informed be that she was close. I wrapped my lips around her sensitive clit, and I gently sucked upon the nub. I felt how it throbbed against my tongue.

And with that, her back arched as she came. I slowed my movements as she spasmed around me, and

I shifted my focus to coaxing her through her orgasm. Her voice echoed through the shrine, every cry more broken and beautiful than the last.

We remained in that cycle. I would work her through an orgasm, only to build her back up with the desperate worship of her cunt. I would toss her back into the fire, only to slow down when I tore another climax from her. And another. And another.

“Enough,” she finally murmured between her gasps. She was so limp beneath me that she appeared boneless. “Lift your head. Let me look at you.”

I couldn’t resist that request. I left the comfort of those wet folds, and I met her gaze with my own. She eased her tight hold upon my hair as she chose to instead sweep my fringe from my forehead.

“Wonderful,” she praised. “You are one of the most obedient mortals I’ve come across.” Her fingertips were pleasantly cool against my heated face. “Will you continue to be obedient, Jude? Will you continue to please me?”

I hummed thoughtfully as I rested my cheek against one of her thighs. “What do you want of me?” I inquired.

She propped herself up onto her elbows, her hair spilled around her shoulders like a colorless waterfall. “Take off all of your clothes. I want you to sit before me with yourself on display. I wish to gaze upon that which is mine.” Her eyes drifted from my face to the line of my clothed form. “What use does a plant have for clothes, anyway?”

I felt my face flush as I looked away from her. “That’s quite the request,” I commented. Despite having just been worshipping at the altar between her legs, placing my nude body on display for her felt far more demanding. I knew I wouldn’t deny her though; I didn’t want to deny her.

I rose to my feet, and I set about ridding myself of my clothing. Flannel and faded denim fell to the ground. I peeled away my boxer briefs, the garment damp from my arousal. I then loomed over the fairy as the cool air of the shrine ghosted over my bare skin.

Her gaze roamed over my body. She took in the sight of my flustered expression, my scarred chest, and my muscled arms. Those same eyes savored the sight of my solid legs and the dark nest of hair that rested between them. And she eyed my own pussy, as wet as her own.

“Very good,” she cooed her approval. “Now, why don’t you take a seat?”

I sat down upon the remaining cushion with movements I found painfully clumsy compared to her otherworldly grace. My acute awareness of my own nudity prodded at me. I had to fight the urge to press my legs together. She wanted me to display myself as though I was an erotic work of art, however, so I kept my legs spread.

We remained like that for a period. She watched me as she rested. I could feel her take in every detail of my bare form.

Finally, after a long silence that hung between us, she spoke. “Perhaps you are a plant after all,” she commented as her gaze rested on the folds of my cunt. “You do seem to have a blossom of your own.”

I chuckled at her comment. “I suppose we could call it that,” I answered her. I reached down and ran my fingers over my pussy. Even that brief touch felt like a balm for my excitement. I longed to properly touch myself, to build myself into a fervor, but I was also uncertain as to whether I would be permitted that luxury. “I take it that you enjoy flowers then?”

“I do,” she confirmed, “but I must confess, I prefer redder blooms.” She rose up, and then she crawled over to me. “And I think you are a plant that would look better with bright red blossoms.” She sat beside me, so close that she was nearly in my lap, and she brought one of her fine-boned hands to my cunt, my blossom. “How about we turn this a nice, vivid red, hm?”

Before I could ask exactly what it was that she intended, she brought her hand down upon those folds with a light slap. My resulting gasp was an embarrassingly loud thing. I always had the tendencies of a masochist—perhaps that was the ultimate reason for how I had come to be in this predicament—but now that aspect of myself was on full display. I felt myself instantly grow wetter, and I spread my legs further to give the fairy better access to my most delicate parts.

She immediately took advantage of my willingness. Her hand came down upon my pussy again and again, and the sounds echoed within the shrine. After a particularly loud moan, I buried my face against her hair. While none of her spanks were particularly harsh, they were compounding upon each other. The result was a delicious, burning pain across my cunt.

“This is much better, isn’t it?” she asked as she stopped the spanks in order to toy with my red, swollen folds. “It’s a rather beautiful color, isn’t it?”

I blinked away the dampness of my eyes in order to look down at my pussy. The red from the punishment, peering out from beneath the dark curls of hair, was far more vivid than I had expected. “It is,” I agreed in a shaky voice. She hummed her agreement as she stopped playing with the folds in order to dip her fingers into my opening. The digits slipped in with an ease that I almost found mortifying.

“There is a story that I hear on occasion,” she began. “I believe that it’s something you humans refer to as an urban legend. A man takes a woman to his bed. He attempts to sleep with her, but when he slips his cock into her, he gets a rude awakening as it is instead bitten off. He learns, perhaps in the worst way imaginable, that she has a second set of teeth.”

She hooked her fingers inside of me, and a deep groaned escaped me in response. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” my voice cracked as I answered her. “I’ve heard a couple different versions of it. I don’t think it’s true though.”

“A shame, really,” the fairy answered. “I think most mortal men would benefit from the prospect of losing their cocks if they made such egregious mistakes.” She thrust her fingers as deep within me as they could reach. “Though perhaps not a man such as yourself. I must confess, I would have enjoyed seeing a set of teeth within you. A little hole, lined with pearly whites.”

I laughed a breathless laugh. “You wouldn’t be worried about me biting you?” I asked. “You might not have a dick, but I could still bite your fingers.”

She pulled her fingers out of my hole and slapped my sore pussy chidingly. My yelp echoed as I reached down to cover my abused sex. “You would do no such thing,” she informed me. “You have no desire for that sort of malice, at least not with me. Look around us. Look at how much you’ve already done for me. All of these teeth already on display for me. Had you secretly had a second set of teeth, you wouldn’t have tried biting. You would have torn them out to display on the wall, and I would have had to discipline you for such a misstep.

“Now, I want you to uncover yourself. I’m not done playing with you, Jude.”

And true to her word, she kept playing with me. After she continued to torment me with her fingers, she forced me onto my hands and knees. She fed hungrily upon my pussy, drawing forth orgasm after orgasm until I lacked the strength to support my own weight. Sometimes she stopped to rain her hands down upon my backside, leaving the rounded flesh as red as the folds of my cunt.

After a final, powerful climax, I completely collapsed onto the cushions. My mind was exhausted. My body was exhausted. Her hands roamed over my thighs and my back reassuringly. “You did well,” she praised me. “You did so well. And for now, why don’t you close your eyes?”

And close my eyes I did. Within moments I succumbed to a dreamless slumber, my last thought about how her fingers slipped back within me one last time.

* * *

The fairy was gone when I regained consciousness. I had expected as much. She had seen her offering, the shrine of teeth. She had then consumed me, just as I had consumed her. She’d had her fill, so it was natural that she had left afterwards. I would see her again when she had another request she wanted fulfilled.

I clambered up the stairs on my shaky legs, and I walked into the bathroom. As satisfying as the previous night had been, I currently felt repulsive. I needed to brush my teeth. I needed to crawl into a hot bath for a long soak. I needed to feel human again.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, and I then stilled. The empty space where that molar had once been was gone, as though I had never pulled a tooth to begin with. I made my way to the mirror and opened my mouth. Indeed, a fresh tooth sat where an empty socket once existed. The only difference between it and the rest of my teeth was a translucent sheen, not unlike a new pane of glass.

“…Huh,” I mumbled, but I found myself not particularly surprised. I had felt the swelling of new growth during the previous night.

A paranoid thought then crossed my mind. If the fairy could grow one tooth, then surely she could grow multiple? I thought of the urban legend that had so bewitched her, the woman with the second set of teeth tucked away within the depths of her sex.

I reached down past dark curls of hair and between my legs. My pussy was still tender from the events of the previous night, but I persisted. I slipped one of my fingers inside myself—

And I touched the hard ridges of teeth.

Once again, I had thought that revelation would have been a bigger shock, but instead I felt only curiosity. I traced the pad of my finger along the ridges of one of the teeth in fascination. “Well,” I muttered to myself, “I guess that’ll be a nice surprise for next time.” For if the fairy had called upon her magic to give me this peculiar blessing, then surely she would return to enjoy it herself.

And on the day when she returned, teeth would clack against teeth.

_End._


End file.
